The Art of Fainting
Suits
Harvey/Mike
Rated T
Hurt/Comfort | Romance
Written for Suits-a-thon.
The first time it happened, Mike wasn't sick, or drunk, or high, or tired.
He was bored, but that was a normal day at Pearson Hardman. As usual, Harvey and Louis were bickering loudly over Mike's cubicle. Harvey wanted Mike to finish his case first; Louis was insisting that Mike should work on his inane files because he had put them on Mike's desk long before Harvey's case had even existed.
And so Mike watched the back-and-forth, bored, twirling a highlighter between his fingers. He wouldn't have been able to get any work done while they were arguing a foot away, anyway.
His phone buzzed in the bag at his feet, vibrating against his calf. With a sigh, he reached down to fish it out. But as he brought his arm back up, the inside of his elbow slammed into the arm of his chair, shooting a sharp pain up into his shoulder. Mike gritted his teeth and held his elbow with his other hand.
But then suddenly his head felt heavy, foggy, and the room spun, and Mike only had enough time to realize something wasn't right before his vision tunneled and he fell into darkness.
When he came back to himself, the realization came very quickly that he was slumped over the arm of his chair, his shoulder aching from where he landed on it, and his elbow still twinging with aftershocks. Then he realized that there were hands on his face, cool, gentle; they're supporting his head, holding it up.
It occurred to him to open his eyes after a slight delay, but it took another few seconds for the disorientation to fade. And then he jerked back, surprised to see Harvey kneeling next to his chair. The man's face was too close to Mike's; his hands were on Mike. He looked angry, Mike thought, wincing slightly.
Mike cleared his throat and sat upright in his chair, relieved when Harvey let go of him. He settled low into the seat and felt himself turning red. "Um," he managed, looking around.
Louis was staring at him, wide-eyed, over the wall of the cubicle. The rest of the associates on the floor were peering at him from their desks—although most of them seemed more amused than concerned.
Mike looked at Harvey, who was still at Mike's side, brow furrowed and lips drawn into a severe line. But Harvey didn't say anything.
Louis was the first one to speak. "So what was that," he asked, voice a little higher than usual.
"Um," Mike said again, running a hand over his elbow. He saw Harvey's eyes follow the movement and immediately dropped his hand in his lap. "I just… hit my funny bone."
There was silence for another second before a few raucous laughs came from the other side of the room, probably from Gregory and his lackeys. Harvey's head jerked up at the sound, eyes narrowing; but Louis smirked.
Mike knew he was turning even redder.
"You hit your elbow and fainted," Louis said, giving Mike that scary gerbil smile. "Wow, Michael, even for you, that's—"
"Louis, don't you have work to do?" Harvey snapped, rising to his feet. He brushed out the wrinkles of his suit, straightened his vest and then locked his eyes on the junior partner, challenging him to stay for another minute, another second even.
The smirk on Louis' face became slightly pained, but it stayed pasted there. "Harvey, we still haven't decided whose work he's—"
"Louis," Harvey said, voice low. There was a threat to it, and Louis seemed to realize it; he huffed and gave Mike another condescending look before he turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall, snapping at the associates to get back to work as he went. They all obeyed, thankfully, although it didn't make Mike feel any better.
He felt himself visibly flinch when Harvey clapped a hand down onto his shoulder. The blank, cold, lawyerly expression was back on Harvey's face. Mike wasn't sure if that was a good sign or a very, very bad one.
"Don't make a habit of passing out on the job," Harvey told him quietly, raising one eyebrow. He straightened his vest and started toward his office. "And I still want those financial records on my desk by tomorrow morning, Ross."
Mike rolled his eyes as soon as Harvey wasn't looking.
He didn't speak to Harvey for the rest of the day—or anyone else, for that matter, given that his head was buried in a pile of financial records that dated back to the 1920's. But Mike did notice that every hour or so, Harvey would walk past his desk, with very little purpose to it; and more than once, Mike caught him staring, always with a sort of apprehension in his expression.
Mike decided to ignore it. But if he hadn't known better, Mike might've thought Harvey was checking up on him.